Cold Magic

We laughed companionably as she paged through the ledger. The large bound volume had been in use for some time, as the earlier pages were yellowing and filled with names. She reached a half-finished page; the most recent date recorded, 4 November 1838, had a single line written beneath: Captain of Diarisso, with four men at arms. The Diarisso lineage had founded Four Moons House. It was not a common name.



“Are soldiers staying here?” I asked as casually as I could, looking around so as to spot them before they spotted me.



She shot me a startled glance, and she also looked toward the door, then back at me. “My dear, no. They are since gone, of course. Lord Owen doesn’t like to have House cavalry riding about roads he oversees, does he? But even a lord cannot say no to the magisters for fear they will call in a cold spell just when the fruit trees are budding and the wheat sprouting. As long as the cold mages can hold the threat of famine over the rest of us, the princes have to do what they say, do they not? Now, maestra, if you’ll just give me your names so I can record it here.”



My heart stuttered, but I calmed myself. Cautious and watchful I must become.



“Catriona,” I said, choosing the local version of my name, “and Roderic Bara—” I bit my tongue.



“Barr?” she asked, nib poised above the ledger.



“Barr,” I agreed as she carefully wrote the name two lines below, and then went back and filled in a new date: 10 December 1838.



“Not that I can complain about the custom, even from House soldiers,” she went on, “for you see how little traffic we get in this season. The mines are closed down for winter, although the forges are now lit, but none of them will travel until spring. Crops and cattle are long since taken to market. Folk do not travel this time of year. You were fortunate to escape traveling in that terrible blizzard. Those soldiers came galloping in on its wings and were forced to bide here four entire days, although they were so very well behaved I’d like to meet their mothers. You’d think a cold mage had raised such a storm, wouldn’t you?”



December tenth.



Five weeks had passed while I argued with Andevai, told stories to the djeli, and slept in the spirit world. Four Moons House could easily have reached Adurnam and taken Bee. But could they have forced her to marry Andevai without a legal ruling that I was dead? Might they try to force her to marry a different magister with a legal ruling that my marriage was fraudulent? Uncle would fight in court, although it was most likely he and the family had fled the city the night I’d been taken.



Two girls bustled past with heads ducked low, making for the stairs. One held a bundle of clothing in her arms; the other was biting her lower lip and trying not to giggle.



“Where are you going with those?” demanded the innkeeper without rising.



The girls halted, blushing. “These are for—”



“I know who they are for. And you, missy, are not taking them upstairs.”



“I’ll take them up,” I said, for anything would be better than trying to carry on a conversation with the innkeeper while that date pounded in my head. “If a bath—”



“It will have to be in the kitchen out back,” said the innkeeper, “which is where we keep our tub, but we’ve a screen to give you privacy. Nothing fancy.”



I smiled at the girls as well as I could manage and scooped up the clothes. “My thanks, maestra. Just let me know when all is ready.”



“And what don’t fit,” the innkeeper called after me, “I can tailor to measure.”



The girls giggled.



I took the steps two at a time, rapped once to give him warning before flinging open the door and charging in. The room was exceedingly narrow, more of a long corridor from door to window, with two beds lined along one wall, a side table between them, and two along the other. Decently swaddled in the cloaks, he lounged on the bed to the right of the door. Warmth drifted up from the hearths and stoves below. I dumped the clothing on the bed opposite and began shaking it out. It was quite serviceable, nothing in the height of fashion: loose trousers in the Celtic style, a town jacket with a hint of dash but well made enough to weather many years’ wearing. This was not garb for heavy labor but for town work; perhaps the deceased had helped serve drinks at the inn.



I walked to the window. “We have eleven days to reach Adurnam before the solstice,” I said, walking back to him. “If I recall Uncle’s maps correctly, it must be about one hundred miles from Lemanis to Adurnam as the crow flies.” I returned to the window to look out over the inn yard. “We can’t afford to hire horses. I’m not sure we can walk so far in ten days.”